


Honey Blossom Days

by Write_like_an_American



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dildos, Drugs, Drugs Made Them Do It, Established Relationship, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Masturbation, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11080158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/pseuds/Write_like_an_American
Summary: There's a reckless captain, a frustrated first mate, and a spiked drink.Whenever Yondu gets in trouble, he knows he always has Kraglin to provide a helping hand.





	Honey Blossom Days

**Author's Note:**

> **This is an old fic that I first uploaded unedited on tumblr, years back, now polished and made as shiny as Yondu's lubed-up butt. Enjoy!**

It’s called _Janadva,_ which means something fruity in a language that ain’t compatible with standard translators. Honey blossom, Kraglin thinks? All he knows is the following: it’s one of the most effective aphrodisiac-depressants around, a favorite date-rape drug that’ll make anyone horny for anyone else, and that some bastard tried to slip a coupla crushed pills in Zqo’s drink.

Which Yondu, assuming it was your average spiking attempt, had snatched, glared at the guy, and pointedly downed.

Really, thinks Kraglin as the Centaurian curls in his lap, rubbing down in a way that’s entirely distracting when Kraglin’s trying to pilot, and making weird kittenish noises that have no goddamn business coming out of _Yondu fucking Udonta’s_ mouth, he got himself into this. But as always, if captain flounders into a mess, it’s first mate’s duty to get him out of it. Even if it means chaperoning a very horny and non-verbal Yondu who he cannot, by any means, fuck.

It wouldn’t be right, he tells himself, locking his eyes on the tail lights of the M-ship in front of him and swatting Yondu off when his hands wander too close to his fly. 

It _wouldn’t be right._

And to be honest, he’s all kinds of pissed that Yondu’d do something this stupid in the first place. So while this is hot and all, he’s not in the mood.

Yondu shamelessly rubs their crotches together, licking up Kraglin’s neck. Kraglin pushes his head out of his field of vision with a little more force than necessary. 

_Yeah. Not in the mood. Keep telling yourself that._

“I will tie you to your fucking chair if you don’t get back in it, captain,” he threatens. Then regrets it as Yondu’s pupils _blow,_ and he moans, rough and lascivious, cock straining at his leather pants.

Not in the mood. _Not. In. The. Fucking. Mood._

Kraglin grits his teeth and keeps flying. He’s piloted through solar storms and Kree barrages, even seen himself out of a Nova dogfight or five. He can do this. And he does. With only a few additional dents, to the M-ship, the hanger, and his pride.

Isla comms him once he’s shakily keyed in the automatic docking procedure, and the _Warbird_ is creaking along its runners towards its designated bay. 

“How’s he doin’?”

Kraglin twists away as Yondu noses under his jaw, grinding his ass on a woefully clothed cock. His fingers tremble as he pops the catch on his seatbelt. 

“Peachy,” he manages.

Isla’s cackle tells him that she can imagine. “Have fun,” is all she says. 

Kraglin’s ready to smack his head off the dashboard. Because that’s _all_ they’ve been insinuating since the guy confessed through his mouthful of blood just what he’d tried to slip Zqo. And dammit, but he is _not_ taking advantage of… of _this._

The commlink closes before he can hang up on her though – and immediately beeps again, flashing Zqo’s name. Kraglin jabs it, grinding his jaw when his one-handed attempts to dissuade Yondu from undoing his jacket fail.

“What?” he grits. Zqo’s stern face is marginally softer than usual.

“Is Captain okay?” Blunt and to the point. No innuendo, no wink. Kraglin’s grateful for that. He twists the hologram so she can see Yondu: eyes shut, lips bitten, chest rocking gently against Kraglin’s in time with the swivel of his hips. “Ah. How long d’you think he’ll be like this?”

It’s what he’s been wondering. It’s been an hour already. Seeing as Yondu’s come twice – once from Kraglin jerking him off when he assumed Yondu was being his usual hornbag self, once from rutting on Kraglin’s leg after he bundled him into the M-ship and Yondu slipped the first few knots Kraglin tied around him to keep him on his chair – he hopes he’ll wear himself out. 

It’s unlikely. While Yondu ain’t no spring chicken, he’s got a restless energy that’s dauntless at the best of times. With drugs in his system, who knows how long he’ll go?

He smells of sex and desperation. The needy whines as he nuzzles Kraglin’s collarbone are doing all kinds of wicked things to him, and he needs to get Zqo off the line before she realizes how much he’s affected.

“… Are _you_ okay?” 

Dang. Too late. Kraglin schools his mouth into a grin.

“ _Fine._ ” Sitting on a massive pair of blue balls. But fine. Zqo’s flat stare reads him like he’s one of her navigational charts.

“You could fuck him, y’know.” 

Kraglin jerks, hands snapping to cover Yondu’s ears. The cap’n is paranoid enough about people knowing about their… whatever this is. He doesn’t need Zqo to confirm what the smarter members of the Bridge crew sussed years back. 

Zqo continues, tone as casual as if she were discussing job specs. “Might get it out of his system quicker. It’s what it’s designed for, y’know.”

And that’s true and all, but… _She_ was the one who nearly got caught by this. Kraglin gawks at her. 

“Y’know this is a _date rape_ drug, right?”

“And I know that he’d be actin’ the exact same way at some point tonight regardless.” 

They consider Yondu together, who’s staring at Kraglin’s shirt like he’s not sure why it’s still there. 

“Okay. Maybe not the _exact_ same, but…”

“No,” Kraglin interrupts. “Just no. I ain’t doin’ it. It’s not right, he can’t even _speak –_ “ He can’t say _no_. Kraglin could do anything to him right now, and the fact that that’s arousing, even on a subconscious level, is quite frankly terrifying. Kraglin hooks Yondu by the belt-loops and eases him back along his thighs. He’s met by a whine and a disturbingly pleading look.

“No,” he says, more to Yondu than Zqo. “I ain’t gonna do that.”

Zqo shrugs, reaching for the cut switch. “Your choice,” she says, and fizzles out. 

Kraglin exhales. He leans his head briefly against the rest – then regrets it when Yondu latches onto his earlobe and combs trembling fingers through his Mohawk.

He should do something about this. Maybe… maybe if he just jerked him off? Again? So long as he don’t do nothing for himself, it ain’t _rape_ , right? Just givin’ a friend a helping hand.

A really, really horny friend who can’t consent to a fucking thing.

Kraglin pinches his nose. He stands slowly, dislodging Yondu without piling him on the floor – the man seems unsteady on his feet, and has to grab the console behind him for balance, leaning on the thruster relay. Kraglin’s grateful they’re locked out in dock, but that’s still sensitive electrical equipment that won’t take much crushing.

“Don’t sit there,” he says, plucking at Yondu’s arm. Those red eyes, usually so sharp, now blink dull and unfocused. They keep sliding to Kraglin’s junk, ogling him with such blatancy that blood fills his cheeks. 

While Yondu might look him up and down every now and then when he ain’t doped up, he’s a pro at keeping whatever he feels - lust, fondness, sentiment - buried. The earnest, pleading _hunger_ he’s broadcastingaffects Kraglin far too much. It’s a struggle to get Yondu on his feet, for both of them.

“C’mon. There’s bunks in the right wing. Let’s just… let’s just get there, yeah? One step at a time.”

Bunks which he will not be sharing. He will _not._

Yondu takes one step, as commanded. Then he stumbles, and drops – very conveniently – to his knees. 

Kraglin almost laughs. Great. Even high out of his mind, he’s a tricksy a-hole.

“Nice try,” he commends, hauling him up again. “But no cookie. No cock. Whatever.”

Snarking ain’t so fun when your partner can’t answer back.

Eventually, he coaxes Yondu to the bunk. Cap'n falls into it, and immediately rolls onto his front, hands and knees, presenting himself like a dog in heat.

Kraglin swallows dry spit. Counts to ten. Then twenty. He rests a gentle hand on Yondu’s back, feeling the tense muscle and the upwards curve of his spine.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, toppling his hips to one side. “I can’t give you what you want.” Yondu presses his face into the pillow and whimpers. Kraglin rubs his lower back, aiming to soothe and wincing when the attention only makes Yondu arch with the intent to fill Kraglin’s palms with his ass instead. “I know. I know. I’m sorry, really – I am…”

Is this getting through to him at all? Yondu’s reacting to his words – sort of. But he’s so obviously _not there_ , played to the drug’s tune like a joystick in a pilot’s well-trained hand. No matter how hard he tries, Kraglin can’t convince himself that giving him what he wants is _right._

Yondu’ll probably tell him that he’s an idiot, when he’s capable of speech. However, he _might not._

Kraglin can’t take that chance. 

But Yondu’s curling up. Yondu’s hugging his stomach, bowed around his hard cock in a dejected foetal coil. He looks so sad, so _lonely,_ like Kraglin’s rejection has sucked all the life out of him, and…

Kraglin gulps again, rubbing dry palms down his legs. He won’t take off his own pants. Just… just… help him out a bit. No biggie.

“Yondu,” he says. “Sit up.”

It’s… he doesn’t know the words to describe it, as Yondu immediately perks and scrambles to obey. Scary? Exhilarating? More like infuriating – because if Yondu was only  _conscious_ of what he was doing, Kraglin would be all over that like a Ravager on gold.

He licks his lips. “Strip.” Then, before Yondu’s expression can slide to sultry – “You’re not allowed to touch me though! Only yourself. Understand?” 

Yondu’s smirk fades. But not by much. He nods. Shrugs out of his shirt. His hands are shaking too much to fumble open the fly – he turns pleadingly to Kraglin, who blushes harder and moves to sit on the bed next to him. 

“Okay. But you still can’t touch me.”

Yondu just spreads his legs. The zip practically peels itself apart as soon as Kraglin undoes the button; his cock is _there,_ heavy with dark blue blood. Kraglin tries very hard to ignore it, staring instead at Yondu’s slack features, trying to get a read on anything other than _need_ and _sex_  and _more_.

“You okay?” he whispers.

There’s no hesitation. Yondu thrusts into his hand before he can pull it away. 

His cock’s full and fat, slicked with precum and the two portions of jizz he’s already produced. It skids between Kraglin’s fingers, near-frictionless. But it’s enough.

Yondu’s jaw drops in bliss. Kraglin watches in numb shock as his hips stutter and fluid spills from the swollen blue tip. There’s not much left - thanks to the white mess creaming the inside of his pants. Yondu rocks through the orgasm dry, milking himself into Kraglin’s limp fist.

“Fuck,” breathes Kraglin, as dark blue lashes drift apart. Yondu’s pupils are still wide, far too wide, almost eclipsing the iris. He  _smiles_ at him, blithe and honest, and leans in to give him a kiss, and –

_No._

Captain doesn’t like snogging – never has done, despite Kraglin’s best attempts to change his mind; and probably never will. Him doing this of his own accord? It’s wrong. _This is wrong._

But despite that, Kraglin’s lips part to the probe of Yondu’s tongue. It’s all the encouragement his captain needs.

He grabs him by the back of the neck. Kraglin has a moment to think _shit,_  because even drugged up and whistle-less, Yondu is a force to be reckoned with. He hauls Kraglin over him with ease.

And suddenly, there’s a Centaurian pinned beneath him, booted calves hooked over Kraglin’s back, zipper unpeeled so his bare ass snugs tight to his crotch.

When did _that_ happen?

Kraglin has to count to thirty this time. Yondu doesn’t make it easy; rubbing over him like a cat, making sweet, husky little purrs that are going to haunt Kraglin even if he never hears them after this night. He thinks Yondu cums just from that, and desperately averts his eyes to survey the bolts that stitch the wall panels opposite.

Once Yondu’s stopped squirming, relaxed in a sated heap – for now – Kraglin takes the chance to extract himself, awkwardly patting him on the pouch as he goes. The skin is sticky with cooling jizz.

“Ya really can’t go on like this, captain,” he tells him, scooting to sit by the footboard. Yondu’s body stretches out away from him, languidly serpentine, leather pants divided by that strip of blue skin that’s been bared around his ass and crotch. “S’only teenagers that’re supposed to go all night.”

Yondu rolls his head bonelessly over the pillow and starts to finger himself.

Okay. _Okay._ Kraglin sits up straighter.

“No touching me,” he reminds him, again. “I’m gonna stay here. And. Um.” Enjoy the view? “Hey, ya want some lube…?” 

Yondu blinks at the tube Kraglin presents him with. He assesses the block writing that bluntly proclaims its purpose to the world, and nods.

Processing is returning. Kraglin’s smile hurts his cheeks.

“Yeah? Yeah! Awesome.” He squirts some out. Yondu sniffs it and licks it, the tip of his tongue gleaming pink and moist. Then he twists onto his side, one leg thrown out so Kraglin has the perfect view of round blue cheeks, and angles back to prise between them.

Kraglin can’t turn away.

He knows Yondu’s body – every inch of it – intimately. There’s not a centimeter he hasn’t touched, hasn’t tasted. But this: Yondu fucking himself on his thick blue fingers, other hand dug into the mattress with the effort of not reaching for him? It’s something new, and hot, and if it weren’t for the knowledge that it’s all caused by that funky _Janadva_ honey-blossom shit, Kraglin would be enjoying himself.

Inspiration strikes in a lightning burst. Kraglin shoots up. Yondu’s too out of it to jump – he wriggles instead, resettling in the warm space Kraglin left, and watches him through half-lidded eyes as he pads across to a drawer panel and twists the combination into the lock.

“One sec – I got an idea.”

The item he fishes out has Yondu freezing.

“Want it?” Kraglin asks, throat raw. He waggles it, feeling a little absurd – and is gratified when Yondu’s eyes follow. He’s looking more normal by the second, Kraglin notices – no longer so hectic and brainless, in need only of immediate release. He nods without further prompting. The command, silent though it is, rebuilds something in Kraglin.

Yondu’s coming back. The drug is wearing off – he’s sure of it. Kraglin hands the dildo over.

“Okay. Buttons make it do funky shit. First one –“ Yondu crawls onto his front and straddles the crusty old pillow, lifting his ass and flexing his thighs. He sets the dildo’s slender head against his hole. 

Kraglin’s explanation stutters in his throat. “Uh, be careful, yeah…?”

There’s a very Yondu-like snort. As if.

Yondu pops in the shaped head. Inside their bootcaps, his toes stretch and curl. The slide is slow and deep and perfect, and Kraglin watches from afar, as if from behind a glass screen, as Yondu settles the plastic dick to the flared base, and begins to move it in cack-handed thrusts.

It must be good – from the way he whines and gasps into the pillow, survey says _very_ good. But it could be better.

Kraglin smooths his fists over his pants. They’re still uncomfortably tight, but he can deal a while longer. Yondu. This about Yondu. And he’s going to see this through to the end. But – well, if Yondu really needs the assistance…

“Hey,” he says. He catches Yondu’s attention with a grip of his spit-slicked chin. Yondu’s glare is somewhere between bleary, happy, and baleful at being interrupted. Kraglin smirks. He’s still in there, alright. “Let me.”

Yondu’s hips jerk; he releases the dildo and drops his head between his elbows, back a swooping curve. Kraglin can’t resist but run his hand down it, smoothing scars and powerful muscle. Giving the meat of his ass a squeeze, he turns his attention to the bright red dildo standing out against Yondu’s rim. A flick of the button at its base sets it vibrating, a sound all the more crude for its muffled, buried tone. And the effects…

Kraglin fondles himself through his leathers. Each time he pushes the dildo forwards, pressing lightly down, he wrings a wet moan. He can feel the shake, just from the hand resting on Yondu’s back. Yondu’s practically _writhing._

His orgasm builds through the muscles in his stomach, spreading into chest, hamstrings, calves, arms, like ripples from a stone dropped in a pond. Kraglin takes him to the cusp, cock a constant ache. He’s glad Yondu’s already far-gone, because he doesn’t know how much longer he can last before popping an artery from the sheer quantity of blood that’s building up below his belt.

 _Let this be the last time,_ he prays. Clicks the dildo onto its highest setting and holds it there, _deep,_ as Yondu fucking  _howls_ and bucks, and collapses like he's had his tendons cut.

Kraglin waits a moment. Then pulls the dildo out. He checks Yondu’s face to make sure he’s only unconscious and still breathing, etc., then whips down his fly and gets to business.

He kneels over his cap'n, and pumps himself a grand total of twice before giving Yondu's gaping hole a fresh sticky coating.

“Fuck,” he says, eyes shuttering. He lets his head flop back. Dirty hand flop down. Breathes.

Yondu’s completely out of it – drizzled in spunk, sweat, spit, and stray streaks of lube. He looks used. Incredibly so. Kraglin’s only disappointed that drugs were involved, and it wasn’t him and him alone who got cap’n into this state. But he figures that having been a formative influence is reward enough.

He knuckles Yondu’s scarred cheek. His face is all squished against the pillow, and he has – somewhat improbably – got jizz on his implant.

Kraglin presses his kiss there, tasting salt and sour, and wanders off to find some towels.

**Author's Note:**

> **Comments are life!**


End file.
